


Settling In

by astraplain



Series: Prison AU [2]
Category: Gorgeous Carat
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 07:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10962426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astraplain/pseuds/astraplain
Summary: Recently freed from prison, Florian adapts to life in Ray's household.





	Settling In

"Your vegetables, mi'lady." Florian removed his hat and gave a nod after setting the small basket on the kitchen counter. His breathing was labored and he needed a moment to rest before he could move to the table where Laila had lunch waiting.

"You're going to spoil Adrian if you keep doing his work," Laila teased, pouring her tea before filling Florian's cup. She pushed the sugar bowl closer and pretended not to watch as he stirred three cubes into his beverage with an unsteady hand. He was recovering slowly but it was difficult for her to watch him struggle with simple tasks. 

"It's either help in the garden or help in the house," Florian pointed out reasonably, giving her a bright smile. "Would you rather I help you?"

"That's not going to get you out of answering Ray's mail," Laila reminded him, returning his smile with one just as bright. The only thing Laila disliked more than gardening was handling Ray's correspondence. 

"Fine, but I'm not staying cooped up in the study all afternoon. It's much too nice to be indoors." Florian hadn't been in Ray's household long enough for Laila to know if this was typical or if his aversion to being inside was a product of spending a month in prison. He'd been released six days ago and hadn't lost this pallor or regained any weight. The only change was his hair, which had grown out just enough to irritate him. 

"I want to check your bandages first, so finish your lunch." With a flick of the wrist, Laila uncovered the plate that she'd left off to one side. Florian's eyes lit up at the sight of two small cakes. He ate the rest of his soup with more enthusiasm but left the crackers untouched. 

"I'll join you in a moment." Florian pushed up from the table using both hands to steady himself. Despite his best effort, he'd had to leave half of his cake for later but he wanted to thank Clarisse for her thoughtfulness. Ray's cook had been going to extra effort to make meals that were easy on his still unsettled system. The desserts might be bribes to encourage him to eat, but he appreciated them anyway.

The walk from the kitchen to the first-floor suite that had been converted for his use was just far enough that Florian had to lean against the wall and rest before joining Laila. She had fresh bandages ready along with her tray of ointments and a basin of warm water. Without being asked, Florian removed his shirt - one of Ray's cast-offs - and turned to reveal sweat and blood-soaked wrappings covering his torso.

"This is going to sting," Laila cautioned before setting to work in removing the soiled cloth. She worked efficiently but gently, not bothering to keep up a conversation. She'd chattered away the first few times she did this, both to soothe Florian and to cover her feelings of anger and frustration. Eventually she ran out of things to say and they'd settled into a silence that, if not exactly comfortable, was at least companionable.

Just because she had nothing to say didn't mean she was less angry about the abuse Florian had suffered while he was imprisoned. Ray was no saint - Laila had doctored Florian after Ray had whipped him after all - but he would never abuse someone who'd already been beaten. He certainly wouldn't let their wounds go untreated. 

Laila had made good use of Ray's money to get information about Florian from cooks and cleaning women who worked at the prison. It wasn't the complete story, but it was enough. It was no secret that aristocrats were treated harshly in prison, but the speed with which Florian had been arrested, tried and convicted as well as his treatment at the hands of the guards pointed to more than just a dislike of nobles.

Thank goodness Ray had at least convinced - bribed - the warden to put Florian in solitary. He was still at the mercy of the guards but it kept Florian away from the general prison population. Ray had tried to do more but had been thwarted at every turn, because of Maurice. It made Laila furious to think that Florian had been wrongfully accused by his own uncle just so the man could get his hands on the famous Rochefort diamond. If he'd asked, Florian probably would have given it to him, especially if it would have saved Florian's mother. Perhaps that was why Ray was so relentless in pursuit of the man. They were in Spain now, but Laila wished Ray would come home. 

With a "hrff" of irritation, Laila slathered Florian's back with ointment. It was only when he flinched away from her that she realized she was taking her aggravation out on the person who least deserved it.

"The wounds are healing," Florian reminded her, his voice kind. It made Laila want to shout at him; how could he be so calm after everything that happened? 

They didn't speak again until the new bandages were in secure and Florian had put on another of Ray's old shirts. Laila busied herself, gathering the dirty wrappings with sharp, quick movements.

"Laila," Florian placed his hands over hers to stop her. For a long moment she couldn't meet his eyes for fear that she'd say something she shouldn't. "Laila," he repeated, "it's alright."

"It's not!" she pulled away from him, taking a step back as if distance would stop her from lashing out. "None of this is alright." He might want to deny what had happened while he was in prison, but the proof was written on his body.

"Laila..." Florian sat down at the small table and motioned for her to join him. When she hesitated, he patted the table and asked again. "Please?"

She dropped into the chair gracelessly and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting. Florian looked away for a moment, shaking his head and letting out a laugh that wasn't at all amused.

"You're a good friend," Florian told her, his voice soft. "I'm honored that you care enough to be angry on my behalf..." he broke off and looked away, staring at something she couldn't identify for a long moment before he continued.

"I don't remember much. Not at the beginning at least. The guards..." Florian turned his head in her direction, but he didn't look at her. "It amused them to tell me things. Some might have been true. Maybe they all were." He shrugged as if a heavy weight rested on his shoulders. "I'll probably never know."

"My aunt drugged me - that was probably true. My uncle testified against me - I remember that but not much else from the trial. My whip wounds became infected - the guards told me that the first time they beat me. They said they had to give me extra for making them wait so long." 

"It was probably shock, from my... injuries, from losing mother and..." Florian looked away again before continuing. "The doctor gave me medicine that made everything hazy." He shrugged more easily this time, but there was a rigidity to his posture that made it clear he was less accepting of what had happened than he wanted Laila to know. 

"Maybe it's for the best." He finally turned to look at her again, but the shadows in his eyes made a lie of his words. There was nothing Laila could do or say that could make it better for him, so she stood up without speaking and wrapped him in an awkward embrace. 

A moment of shocked stillness and he put his arms around her, holding on as if she were his lifeline. It wasn't until she stepped back that she realized it was the truth. She gave him another gentle squeeze before letting go. 

"Don't forget those letters," she said, smiling with genuine affection. "They're piling up."

"So are the vegetables," Florian replied, his eyes misty. "Adrian might need my help."

"I'll have Jacques take your table and chair out to the patio," Laila bribed, knowing she'd already won. 

Florian's expression and the way he thanked her reminded Laila that it wasn't a contest, it never had been. Impulsively, she leaned down and kissed his cheek. 

"You're welcome," she told him before sweeping away the dishes in a flurry. She bustled out of the room to find Jacques, bright-eyed and smiling.

::end::


End file.
